


Hold Your Fire

by dracofiend



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracofiend/pseuds/dracofiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Casey doesn’t have to eliminate the Intersect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Your Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Casey’s perspective on one of the last scenes of 2.01, Chuck vs. The First Date – the one where Chuck is soooo excited to get the Cipher to help build the new Intersect, not knowing that Casey’s been ordered to kill him when he becomes obsolete.

“It’s just—” Casey flexed his jaw. It wasn’t insubordination to make the general aware of facts. “Chuck's served his country with honor,” Casey said. “Maybe he even has potential as an analyst for the organization.”

“I unders—” began General Beckman, but Director Graham swooped into frame and leaned into the camera. 

“Let me, General. Major Casey, can you extract these secrets from Mr. Bartowski's head? Can you guarantee him safety from kidnapping, from torture?”

Casey’s stomach tightened as he looked into Director Graham’s resolute face. He knew it had been a long shot, that kill orders, once issued, were rarely retracted. Commanding officers, like everyone else, hated admitting to mistakes. And would this be a mistake? For the nation? 

“No,” Casey answered. As much as he wished otherwise, it was the truth. He felt his lungs filling in anger. 

“Then it's clear,” the Director said. “Chuck Bartowski has served his country with honor.  
Now he'll die with honor to protect it.”

With a last glare, Director Graham ended the call, and Casey was left staring at his darkened screen, wondering how long it would take for Walker to hunt him down after he did his duty and obeyed orders. Not long, he thought grimly, pushing down hard on the wave of what felt like utter despair. He went to his firearms storage unit and unlocked it, and his hand went to his SIG without thinking. He locked in the suppressor with a few swift twists, feeling it click into place. 

Casey went to his front door and took a deep breath. His eye caught President Reagan’s, smiling from his frame. Someone had to do the dirty work – to help keep the country free, and safe, no matter the cost. It was the right choice. Casey knew it without a sliver of a doubt. Chuck’s life, and his own, were insignificant compared to the millions of innocent citizens who depended on people like Casey. It was the right choice – and it had been worth it, every time. 

He saluted the president, and went out the door.

Chuck’s window was wide open, welcoming Casey in. _Imbecile,_ Casey growled to himself. _How many times do I need to tell you, Bartowski._ He stepped in without a sound, his body moving on reflex, hands firm on his gun, eyes and ears alert for any unexpected visitors. Chuck was alone a few minutes ago, talking to himself in a more-dopey-than-usual voice, rehearsing bits for when Walker came over. At least Casey wouldn’t have to listen to any more of that crap from him. The thought sent a jag of helpless fury though Casey. He raised his weapon, and crept into the hall. No visual on the target, but he could hear the clink of silverware from the dining room. He placed one foot in front of the other, keeping his shoulders low, listening, listening for anything that would force him to pause, go for cover, re-assess. Chuck was muttering and snickering at himself now, something about Europe, rail passes – what an idiot he was, _idiot,_ too busy coming up with terrible pick-up lines for Walker to notice a 240-pound man in black with a gun standing ten feet away – target acquired, Casey had the shot – this was his job, his duty, his privilege to serve his country – he leveled his gun and looked down the muzzle – Chuck’s cheek would take the hit.

Casey took one more step closer – the floor beneath his foot groaned. Chuck looked up; Casey darted through a doorway, heart pounding, hands steady. Casey breathed, rapidly, noiselessly – would Chuck come investigate? He’d have a point-blank shot, but to do it like that – with Chuck’s wide eyes watching, not understanding, until maybe, maybe after Casey pulled the trigger – Casey opened his mouth to breathe a little faster. Another clink of a fork or a knife against a plate. Casey pressed his lips together. He’d told Chuck to be on the lookout at all times for anything suspicious, especially in his own home – so naturally the moron just kept right on doing what he was doing. Bartowski was supposed to be _smart,_ Casey seethed. Why hadn’t he learned a single damned thing from Casey about staying alive? 

Casey swallowed past the constriction in his throat and pulled in air through his nose. It was time to get this done. He slipped from the bathroom and moved silently to the end of the corridor, pressing himself to the wall. Chuck’s head was down; he didn’t see anything, except himself, in his fantasy world, with Walker, and sunsets, and happily-ever-afters. Casey raised his gun, took careful aim. One shot, clean – target wouldn’t feel a thing; would go down smiling, a pretty face on his mind. He touched the trigger, curled his finger over it. It was the right choice.

The doorbell chimed – Chuck started, weaved from the direct sightline of Casey’s gun. Casey backed half a step into the hallway, heard Chuck open the door.

“Hey, Sarah.”

“Chuck.” Walker sounded tense. Casey edged forward, looked out toward the front door.

“What is it?” 

“We have to call off the date,” Walker said, looking perturbed. “The Intersect was destroyed.”

“What?” Chuck said, bewildered. Casey was not. No new Intersect meant Bartowski’s brain was still good to the CIA and NSA. Casey’s eyes narrowed as relief ripped through him; he lowered his weapon and listened. The blood roared in his ears.

“But the Cipher—” Chuck stammered. 

“It was a Trojan horse, a sabotage device,” Walker cut in. “The moment it came online, it exploded.” 

“But that means—” Chuck tried again. Casey jerked his body back from the wall – the news had thrown Walker for a loop, but any second she would scan the perimeter and see him crouching there. She’d know what Casey had come for, and she would promptly try to kick his ass. Not that she’d succeed, but he would gain nothing by pissing her off, and letting the kid in on the truth would only jeopardize his ability to get intel out of Chuck on future missions. 

“You're still the only Intersect,” he heard Walker say as he withdrew down the hallway as noiselessly as he had come. “I'm sorry.” 

Casey shut the door to his apartment behind him and stood for a moment, his hand on the doorknob. Chuck was still alive - probably weeping all over Walker by now, completely oblivious to how close he’d been to eating a bullet, whining about how he’d never be able to go back to his normal dead-end life. Casey suddenly leaped into action, striding toward his surveillance station, jamming the headphones on his head, flipping the audio on. Chuck’s voice (plaintive, questioning, irritating as all hell) filled his head. Casey breathed in; he breathed out. The hollowed-out sensation that liked to slam Casey deep in the gut after close calls eased. No dereliction of duty here; just mission parameters that had been blown to smithereens along with the new Intersect, and Casey, happy for the first time to have Bartowski in his ear. 

The monitor in front of him suddenly flashed, and General Beckman’s stern face appeared on the screen. 

“Major Casey,” she said as Casey stripped the headphones from his ears. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Have you carried out your mission?”

“No ma’am,” Casey replied.

“No?” The general’s eyes bulged slightly, and she leaned forward.

“Target was about to be eliminated when Agent Walker breached the perimeter and announced that the new Intersect had self-destructed,” Casey reported. “It became necessary to re-confirm my orders before proceeding.” Beckman eyed him with a severe expression, and Casey found himself explaining. “I believed she was telling the truth – she had no knowledge of my assignment tonight, and no reason to lie. If she suspected it, I think she would’ve persuaded Chuck to leave with her – they wouldn’t have gotten far.”

“Are you certain of that, Major?” Beckman asked icily. “You seemed uncharacteristically _resistant_ to undertaking this task, which I must confess, surprised me, given your area of specialty. Is there something you’re not telling me about _Chuck?_ ”

Casey gritted his teeth without dropping his gaze. Beckman’s eyes remained pinned to his, probing, full of reprimand. _Well was Walker right about the new Intersect?_ Casey wanted to bark out, but he’d been doing this too long to break discipline now. 

“No ma’am,” he answered, fighting to keep his features calm. Beckman stared at him a second longer, frowning fiercely. Then she sat back, interlacing her fingers.

“Very well,” she said crisply. “The new Intersect was planted – by whom, we don’t yet know for sure. It exploded following initialization, killing all the agents who were preparing to upload the Intersect data, along with Director Graham.” She leaned toward the camera again, looking more tired than admonishing now. “They got many of our top agents, and a highly valued and experienced leader of the CIA. A set-back like this requires us to begin building a new Intersect from ground-up, and I’ve been informed that this may not be a feasible avenue for the agencies to pursue at this time, for a number of reasons.”

Casey nodded as she paused. It was General-speak for politicians getting in the damn way – they were almost as bad as the criminals Casey went after, in some respects – always interfering with the imperative to keep the nation secure, and, like cockroaches, they seemed to multiply without end, no matter how many were indicted or forced to resign.

“What that means, you’ll be pleased to know, is that your orders to terminate the asset are revoked, effective retroactive to the time you overheard Agent Walker’s announcement regarding the new Intersect” – Casey held in a grunt at the general’s pointed tone – “and your orders to protect him have been reinstated in full.” She reached across her desk to end the call. “Stay close to Chuck, Agent Casey,” she said, and her drawn face vanished. 

Casey’s chest rose as he slowly pulled in air; he snorted it out. Roger that, General. He reached to his side, slipped the gun from the holster, and began to remove the suppressor from the end. He’d clean them and put them away, then treat himself to a Hot Pocket in front of his monitors. Chuck would be in his bedroom, writing in his diary, sobbing his bleeding heart out, listening to that so-called band of long-haired skinny losers with the dumbass name (who the hell thinks an arcade fire is a good idea? Anarchists, that’s who). Casey would watch him go through his obnoxious, self-pitying, my-future-sucks-again routine all night. In the morning, Casey would take his shift at the BuyMore, where he’d go straight to Chuck at the Nerd Herd desk, and despite having monitored Chuck for eight hours straight not two hours ago, he’d be unable to stop himself from saying, “Good to see you, Bartowski,” and meaning it.


End file.
